Just Another Story
A bump in the night, a creak in the house, the tapping at a window, driving at night, a cabin in the woods, et cetera, et cetera; I’ve heard them all. So, why do people continue to write them and tell them over and over? I suppose the simple answer is to scare others. The thing is; it’s all cliché, so it’s not scary to the more… well, ‘experienced’ readers. For example; me. I read creepypastas every night to make myself laugh. Yes, laugh. Most people get scared, and others couldn’t give a shit. I enjoy it. I enjoy to hear the suffering of others… and… well, tear apart the story and point out the clichés, of course. I like to hear of these stories, especially the bloody ones. Now, some overdo it with the blood; like almost all gaming creepypastas these days. Now, my story; there is no entity, there is no beast, there is no enigma. Only me and my mind, and a few unfortunate creatures. My mind is a dark place. And, no, I’m not an ‘emo’ or a ‘goth’. I am just… sadistic, I suppose. You could almost say my mind is fractured. I have a desire –a lust- for making others suffer on a physical level. And, before you think it; no, this does not end with ‘I hacked your computer’ or ‘I’m going to hunt for you and make you scream.’ None of that shit. I am merely going to tell you a few things, then you can go back to reading other creepypasta, or whatever you please. Now, this feeling first surfaced a few years ago. I don’t know where it could’ve come from, but I do like it. Now, I won’t bore you with my life’s story. I’ll get to the point, for your sake. And, I will continue saying ‘you’ and ‘your’ because I don’t say ‘you all’ because, who knows? There may be one person who reads this, or many. Also, don’t you like to be referred in the story? Doesn’t it help with being immersed? And, you don’t need to be immersed in this story. I know; I’m contradicting myself. I got off topic again. I just want to tell you this little part of my life, and another afterwards. Only two, that’s all. So, bear with me, reader. Now, the first ‘tale.’ It’s about the first time I killed something. And, not a bug, or a spider; a larger creature. Nor was it a cat, or dog. It was a rabbit. I found it near the side of my house one day. The little thing hopped around as if its spine was broken. It wasn’t using its back legs, it was just trying to go somewhere, but was just hopping into the air. I felt bad for the creature, but, I felt almost happiness to see it in pain. I went into my front yard, making sure to not disturb the crippled rabbit. I picked up a rock, a small rock, one that didn’t take up my entire hand. I went back around and smiled to see the rabbit still there, still trying to hop away. I raised my hand and threw the rock at it. I almost giggled as it struck the little rabbit in the hind-quarters. It jumped about three feet in the air! I smiled once more, and had a better idea. The little creature was in quite a bit of pain, but, I wanted to make it feel more before the final blow. I went back to the front yard and took a loose brick from where the rocks were held. It was a small area with a few bushes and a small tree. Why we put rocks around them? I don’t know. It was my parent’s home, as, I was only about ten. I walked back around and set the brick on the rabbit’s haunches. It looked to me with what I could imagine was fear in its eyes. I smiled to it and gave it a little pet. I then stomped on the brick, feeling a few cracks and pops below my foot. The little rabbit went silent and still a moment and I frowned, thinking I had killed it. When it began moving again I smiled wide. I decided that if I did another blow like that; it’d surely die. So I went into our garage and took a hefty shovel. I went to the rabbit and slammed the edge down unto its neck. It went in, but not all the way through. The little thing still wriggled, blood matting its fur and the grass. I brought it down again, a grin across my face. It went into its neck once more and the little rabbit lived no more. I picked up the brick and returned it to the front yard. I returned the shovel to the garage after hosing the blood off. I picked up the rabbit and looked around, wondering where I could put it. There were three lakes nearby, one across the street behind the neighbor’s house. I walked across the street, not caring who saw my handy-work. I carried the corpse of the rabbit and tossed it into the lake. I went home and washed my hands, fearing it may have been diseased. I can’t recall what I did after that. Now, at this point, you may think of me as cruel. Well, of course. Did I not say I was a sadist? Now, that was the first time I’d ever killed, but, the first time I killed a human was something else. It was better. Like when you try one food you enjoy, then another that is even better. Now, I didn’t come across a person in the condition of the rabbit. They had come to my door, trying to sell me something. I can’t remember what it was. They wanted to come inside to discuss more. I let them come in, curious about the product. Now, this was years after the rabbit; I was more intelligent, more fluent. We chatted, and I got an urge: The urge that I had felt many times before, but pushed away. I sniffed the air and commented on a putrid odor. They said they couldn’t smell a thing, but I insisted we move somewhere else. They asked about going outside, but I said it smelled as if someone was burning something. I told them that the basement most likely wouldn’t have the smell in it. They were hesitant, and, why wouldn’t they be? A stranger insisting they go into the basement. This person must have been very persistent on selling this product as we eventually went into the basement. I used the basement for storage, so there were a few boxes as well as a few old things. I snuck back into the kitchen and retrieved a pan. After seeing so many shows and movies with the ‘frying-pan KO’ I thought it’d work. And sure enough it did. I took out an old plastic fold-up table. I kept it there in case of a party, which, I never had thrown any. I went to my dresser and retrieved four belts. I put the man on the table and tied up his limbs. I made sure to make them tight. I didn’t want them running off, now, did I? I went back upstairs to the kitchen and selected a few knives. I made sure to take the sharpest ones. I took a small one, a large one and a rigged one. I walked back down and set the knives on a box near the still-unconscious man. I tapped my chin, thinking of what else I could use. I smiled at the thought of the tools in my garage. I took pride in some of my wood-work. It was a hobby of mine, and I enjoyed it. I went into the attachment to my home and retrieved a saw, a few nails, a hammer and a screw driver. I went into the kitchen and turned on the stove, putting the nails on it. I smiled at the cleverness. When I returned to the basement I saw the man looking around in fear. I smiled to him and he was terrified! I went to him with the smallest of the knives and pulled up his shirt. I made a long cut into his torso. He screamed and writhed in pain, only making me smile wider. I told him the more he writhed the more it’d hurt. He still did, though. I cut a few more times, making a pattern similar to an ‘I.’ He blacked out from the pain. I spread open the flaps of skin and looked within. I scowled at the layer of muscle. I wanted to see what was behind this wall, so what better to do than to rip it out? I would cut into it and take large handfuls out. I looked back at the unconscious man, scowling at him – for he wasn’t giving me his screams and swears. I thought a moment and smiled. I had many energy drinks and such to keep me awake, for I had a slight case of insomnia. I mixed the many of them together and poured them down the man’s throat. I wait for it to digest in him. He slowly began to wake up, and that was to my surprise. He began to scream and writhe again, making me smile. I commented on how rude it was to fall asleep in someone’s company. I went up stairs and retried the nails, now red-hot. I made sure to use some mitts so I wouldn’t burn my fingers. I went back down and positioned one of the nails near the man’s right hand. With the hammer in my other hand I brought it up. He kept trying to swat me away, but I would just smile and say he’d just get it in a more painful place; such as in a few fingers, or his wrist. I slammed the hammer down, the nail driving into skin, muscle, and bone! He screamed and I laughed! I could smell the flesh around the wound burning. He screamed at me, threatening me. He was in no position to talk down to me. I showed him the other nails and he stopped. I smiled to him once more. I went over with the ridged knife and slowly dragged it across his other wrist, eventually stopping at the bone. He screamed and writhed more, only allowing the blade to saw quicker. I must say, he writhed quite a bit. Perhaps I should use ‘wriggled’ or ‘squirmed’? Whatever the case he was in quite a bit of pain and moving a lot. Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t like to hear how I cut out his innards, although, it was skillfully. Years of studying anatomy paid off. I cut out the digestive tract and kept the respiratory system as well as his heart. I then took out one lung, letting him wheeze. I quickly took out his diaphragm as well as his lung. While he began to fade I finally dissected his heart. I smiled down at my work, but wondered how to dispose of it. I decided to just bury it in my basement. I worked hard on removing the floorboards and the concrete. It took hours and the body began to smell. I made a small hole that would suffice. I took the saw and cut him up into pieces, putting them into the hole. I took the concrete and shoved down the pieces. I smiled at how much this was like Edgar Allan Poe’s story; the Tell-Tale Heart. I replaced the floorboards. I thoroughly cleaned everything: Sanitizing it, mopping up the blood, cleaning between the boards. It was almost as if nothing happened when I was done. It took hours, but it was worth it. Well, I’m sorry to say that it must end here. That is all I’ll tell you for now. Now, it occurred to me that investigators looking for the missing man may find this. Why should I care? It’s been done and cannot be un-done. I had my fun, and it was well worth going to a psychiatric ward. And isn’t this a fake story? Isn’t it just a creepypasta, meant to disturb the reader? Well, that wasn’t intentional if you are disturbed. I just wanted to share this tale with you. I merely wanted others to know about the fun I’ve had. Category:Mental Illness